


Love in all the Wrong Places

by Vagabond



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: D/s themes, HR, Hurt/Comfort, I'm making it all up as I go, M/M, Minor Violence, Rusco, at its finest, fusco's self esteem, sometime in the first couple seasons idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:39:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6898921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lionel looks in the mirror, he sees a dirty cop who'll never truly be clean. When John Reese looks at him, he sees something entirely different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in all the Wrong Places

**Author's Note:**

  * For [livenudebigfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livenudebigfoot/gifts).



> Based on this prompt from [livenudebigfoot](http://livenudebigfoot.tumblr.com/) on tumblr: Reese/Fusco, reese is a jealous weirdo, either in the comical "how come fusco hugs other cops and not me ;__;" way or in the creepy "hr people are getting really physically invasive with fusco while intimidating him and THAT IS MY JOB" way, ur choice.

Lionel hated it when people cornered him before his first cup of coffee. Yet that always seemed to be Simmons’ favorite time. He’d walked back to his desk, fresh coffee in hand, when his least favorite person in the entire world appeared and blocked his way. 

“We need to talk, Fusco,” Simmons insisted, “so put the coffee down and come on.”

“Can’t I bring the coffee?” He asked, and watched as Simmons’ face twitched with barely contained annoyance. 

“Now Lionel,” he said as he stepped into Lionel’s space and removed the coffee mug from his hand, purposely spilling it on Lionel’s shirt. 

“God damnit it, you’re kidding me,” he hissed as he tried to pull the shirt away from his skin and glared at Simmons. 

“Looks like you need to wash up, Detective. Let me help you,” Simmons deadpanned and grabbed the back of Lionel’s suit jacket. He all but dragged him toward the men’s room after he set down the half empty coffee mug. 

***

Later, after Lionel dug a clean shirt out of his locker and trashed the old one, he returned to his desk and picked up the forgotten coffee mug. Maybe, with enough daily interruptions, he’d break his caffeine habit. He trudged into the break room to find the coffee pot empty, and the staff coffee can decimated. 

“Are you joking?” He asked no one in particular and wondered why the gods had decided to shit on him. 

He dumped the remaining cold coffee down the sink, rinsed the mug, and set it on the rack to dry. Then, Lionel headed back out into the bullpen to find Joss watching him curiously. 

“What?” Lionel asked defensively. Had more coffee spilled on his shirt? He resisted the urge to look down to check. 

“Rough day, Fusco?” Joss asked, always so damn good natured about everything. She’d probably gotten her coffee that morning. Usually she picked it up from the cart down the street, and maybe Lionel needed to follow her lead. At least it would have a lid and be less likely to fall victim to Simmons’ manhandling. 

“I’m about ready to call it an early day,” Lionel admitted as he slumped into his desk chair. 

“Well, don’t do that quite yet. We’ve got a new case,” Joss replied sympathetically. 

“Great; can we get coffee on the way?”  
  
***  
  
Coffee, and a quickly wrapped up case meant the rest of Lionel’s day looked up. He and Joss tackled the paperwork together, and were out before the sun set. They parted ways, and Lionel made his way home. He disappeared into the subway station, hopped on the train, and got off a few stops before his usual one. For once, he wanted to take a breather and walk home since it was a nice evening and worth savoring. 

Footsteps fell in line behind him on the otherwise deserted street and a sense of dread followed. His earlier conversation with Simmons came to mind immediately. There was a pickup they needed him to complete that weekend. He needed to collect payment from the Russians, and try not to die. Maybe the Russians knew he’d be the one knocking, and had decided to pay him a visit instead. Or maybe he would get lucky and whoever it was following him planned to do something mundane, like mug him.

When he turned around to face whoever it was, his heart dropped. 

“You trying to give me a heart attack there, Batman?” Lionel asked as John regarded him with an infuriatingly bored look.

“If I had really been sneaking up on you, Lionel, you wouldn’t have known.”

Lionel turned and continued walking, John easily falling into a relaxed stride beside him.

“So what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Lionel wondered out loud, “if you and glasses need me for something, I’d appreciate it if it could wait until tomorrow.”

“Not necessary, I’m not here to pull you into a mission,” John answered, which left Lionel puzzled. They were not exactly friends, at least not in any traditional sense, so unless there was something they needed from him there was no reason for John to be there.

“Well,” Lionel hesitated as they approached his building, “I mean, this is my place, so...”

“Lead the way, Lionel,” John insisted and watched him with an unreadable expression. Lionel hated the way he could do that, because it made it damn near impossible for him to get any sort of advantage in the situation.

“You’re inviting yourself in?”

“At least I come bearing gifts; takeout from that bistro down the street. Should be here in about fifteen minutes,” John offered up one of his sheepish half-smiles. It was somewhere between ‘whoops’ and ‘deal with it,’ and Lionel just stared, dumbstruck.

“First off, you and Mr. Vocabulary really need to stay out of my app history because you’re getting way too familiar, and second of all...” he trailed off for a moment, “well, I guess there isn’t a second of all since you bought dinner. Fair warning, I didn’t clean my apartment since I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

John shrugged, and Lionel realized he’d probably seen far worse things than another man’s underwear on the floor. He let them both into the building, and led the way to the elevator. During the ride up to the floor, Lionel took note of the mood. John stood closer to him than what could be considered polite, almost as if he were hovering. Something was strange about the whole situation, and he wondered if he would get any answers about it.

The elevator dinged and drew him out of his thoughts. He could sense John’s eyes on him, but when he finally glanced over John had looked away. They exited the elevator and Lionel continued to lead the way to his apartment, though he was ninety-nine percent sure John already knew the way.  
  
Lionel let John in first and followed him in. He shut the door behind him and turned on the light. To the left was a small kitchen and to the right, his living room. Down a short hallway there were two bedrooms, and one bathroom. One of the bedrooms belonged to his son, whenever he’d get to visit, and the other was Lionel’s own bedroom.

Thankfully, after a quick scan of the floor, there was no underwear on it.

He looked over at John, who prowled through the apartment. Lionel recognized the movements; he was checking the perimeter. He moved systematically through the place, glancing into rooms before circling back around to meet Lionel in the kitchen, as that’s where he’d moved. If he was going to deal with tall, dark, and deranged then he figured he needed a beer.

“Find the boogie man hiding in the closet?” Lionel asked. “You want a beer?”

“No thanks,” John replied and stood in the entryway to the kitchen, eyes trained on Lionel.

Lionel shrugged, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and popped it open. He leaned against the counter and took a drink, staring right back at John. This seemed just peachy.

“Are we going to have a staring contest, or is there a reason you bought me dinner and invited yourself over?” Lionel asked, but did not get a chance to answer as there was a knock on the door. John disappeared for a minute, and when he returned he held in his hand two take out bags.

“Philly cheese steak,” John explained as he held up the bag before he set it on the counter. The bag Lionel assumed contained John’s sandwich was set next to it. “And vinegar and salt kettle chips.”

“Creepy,” Lionel replied dryly as he walked over and pulled the bag off the counter. He dropped unceremoniously into a chair at the small table he had in the kitchen, pushed up against the wall, and dug in. No point in making it all anymore awkward than it already was.

John eventually joined him at the table, sitting on the opposite end. Their knees bumped together as he settled, and eventually he got his sandwich out, too. They ate in silence, Lionel checking his phone periodically; waiting for some sort of shoe to drop that would put the entire encounter in context.

“What did Simmons want with you?” John asked and made it sound so casual, as if it were a normal, conversational thing to ask.

“The hell do you mean?” Lionel asked with a frown, and took another sip of his beer. “How did you know he – oh, the camera.” He could see the little policeman in his mind, the one meant to be used to spy on Carter once upon a time. It had become such a normal part of his life, of his routine, that he didn’t think about it most days. As he recounted the events of the day he realized that he and Simmons had been directly in front of it, and Harold had no doubt witnessed him getting dragged off.

John watched impassively as Lionel contextualized everything.

“The usual,” Lionel finally replied as he took another bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “He needs me to do some HR business. Nothing crazy, just picking up some money from the Russians this weekend. I’m going to be your good errand boy and do it.”

“Do you have backup?”

“Since when have I ever needed backup?” Lionel asked, “look, this is typical HR business. You’re the one who wants me to do whatever they ask, and I’m doing it. The further you stay away from it, the better everything will be.”

The look that passed across John’s face made Lionel nervous, as his heart skipped a beat. John’s brows had creased ever so slightly, eyes narrowed and intense. It seemed as if he were trying to look through Lionel instead of at him. In an instant, it melted back into John’s typical neutral gaze, like nothing had ever happened.

“I suppose you know how to be a dirty cop pretty well then,” John replied and Lionel tried to ignore how much it stung.

“Look, did you buy me dinner just to question my choices and insult me?” Lionel snapped, “life was complicated enough before you and the thesaurus walked into it. I do what I can. I would have thought that earned me at least a little respect.”

He wrapped the remainder of his sandwich up and shoved it back into the bag. What a way to end what had been a relatively nice day, Lionel thought to himself. Why was John even in his apartment? Why was he so keen on interrupting his life?

Lionel stood, sandwich bag in one hand, beer in the other, and stalked across the kitchen. The bag was tossed haphazardly into the fridge and once the door to it shut, he downed the rest of the beer and left the empty bottle by the sink.

“You can show yourself out,” he said as he left the kitchen, and on the way out shut off the light out of spite, leaving John in the dark. He made his way to the living room, turned on a lamp, and slumped into his couch. Lionel turned the TV on and pretended to be focused on it, instead of the dark figure now moving around his kitchen.

At some point, John hesitated near the edge of the living room, shrouded by the darkness. Lionel ignored him, and whatever it was he’d wanted to say must have been unimportant because the next thing he knew, the front door had opened and closed and John was gone.

“Good riddance,” he mumbled under his breath, yet the uneasy tension remained coiled in his stomach.

***

“Did you tell anyone about this weekend?” Simmons hissed when he stopped in front of Lionel’s desk the next morning, cold eyes brimming with barely contained disdain.

“What? No,” Lionel answered, not really counting John as ‘anyone.’

“The Russians were hit. One of the deliveries we were getting paid for this weekend got intercepted and set on fire. Needless to say, the money is off the table.”

Lionel glanced around the precinct, then back at Simmons who rolled his eyes and motioned with his head toward the break room. Standing, Lionel followed him in there, and when the door shut, Simmons grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him in close.

“Are you sure you didn’t tell anyone, Lionel? Do I have to remind you that HR knows where your bodies are buried and would throw you to the wolves in an instant if we found out you’d turned?” Simmons asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Maybe your guys fucked up. Maybe one of them talked. Why the hell do you automatically assume it was me?” Lionel snapped back and hissed when Simmons slapped him across the face.

“Keep yourself in check, Lionel. You were the only one who knew about payment this weekend, and the two on protection duty didn’t know what they were protecting.”

The door to the break room opened, and Joss stood there expectantly.

“Am I interrupting something? I could come back,” she said, clearly not intending it to be a real offer.

Simmons stepped back from Lionel, straightened out his uniform, and offered Joss a wry smile.

“Just having a quick conversation about something, and now we’re finished.” He shot Lionel a final warning look and then brushed past Joss to leave.

She glanced over at Lionel, concern written across her face.

“I’m fine, Joss.”

“He have a crush on you or something?”

“Heh, I wish it were something that simple.” He sighed. “How much did you see?”

“Me? I didn’t see any of it. Only reason I knew you guys were in here was because our mutual friend sent me a text asking me to check it out,” Joss replied.

“Is that the mutual friend with the computer, or the mutual friend with the insatiable blood lust?”

“Blood lust,” Joss deadpanned, “he said you were might be in some trouble, asked me to break it up. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Other than the sensation of lightheadedness that came over him due to the fact John had been keeping tabs, he was great. So great. Nothing better than being spied on and he had a suspicion that the only reason he’d been in that situation at all was because John had decided to ruin the weekend pick-up. Lionel didn’t know whether to be grateful, or angry. He was inclined to side with angry.

“I’m fine, Carter. Let’s get back to work and forget this whole thing even happened,” Lionel insisted as he led her out of the break room and back over to their desks. He’d have to deal with John Reese and his bizarre new stalking habit later.

***

A late night followed his encounter with Simmons, and eventually he made it home right before eleven. He let himself in, shut and locked the door behind him, took a few steps forward, and froze. Someone was in his apartment; he could sense it. The hairs of the back of his neck stood on end and his heart raced. He drew his sidearm and aimed into the dark living room, still and silent.

Before he knew it he was disarmed, gun in the hand of whoever it was in the apartment with him, his right hand held tight behind him.

“No need for the gun, detective,” John said quietly as he released Lionel, who immediately pulled away and turned. He accepted his weapon back, put the safety back in place, and slid it back into its holster.  
  
“Sure, Mr. Dark and Sneaky, come on in. Make yourself at home. Did you bring dinner again?” Lionel couldn’t understand why John was incapable of giving a proper heads up.

“I had thought you’d be home earlier; I waited outside but when Harold told me you were still at your desk I decided to let myself in.”

Lionel huffed, turned on the living room light, and then headed down the hallway to his room. He disappeared inside of it, leaving John to stand in the entryway, and put his firearm away. He also slipped out of his suit jacket and draped it over a chair he had in the corner of his room, before he made his way back out toward John.

“This spying on me crap is getting creepy, agent x. I’m starting to get this weird feeling that you don’t trust me anymore,” Lionel stopped a few feet away from John and watched him, the light from the living room lamp playing off of his face, creating shadows along his cheek bones and brow that obscured his face.

“Hardly the case, Lionel,” John replied easily. He stepped forward once, then twice, and easily closed the distance between them.

“Then why? Why now? Why more than you used to? Or have you always been a stalker and only recently started to get worse at hiding it?”

John seemed to vibrate with energy, and Lionel had a hard time placing it. Was he nervous? It didn’t seem right, yet there John was, standing in front of him and hesitating about something. He thought back to the other night when John had ordered dinner and hesitated before leaving.

A hand on his cheek jogged Lionel out of his thoughts and startled him. When he realized it was real and not something he imagined, he became confused. John’s thumb stroked over the skin of his cheek, still tender from Simmons’ slap earlier in the day. Lionel could have sworn he heard a soft rumble in John’s chest akin to a growl as the pad of his thumb moved over his cheek, back and forth, an oddly gentle touch.

“He hit you,” John said in a way that sounded like it would explain everything, like why he was standing in Lionel’s apartment, touching his face.

“So?” Lionel replied, “not the first time, probably not the last. Asshole didn’t even break the skin or leave a bruise. It was just a warning not to shoot my mouth off. One of the hazards of the work you’re having me do.”

John made the sound again, the soft, uncertain rumble as he crowded a little closer to Lionel. His hand slid from Lionel’s cheek down to his shoulder, John’s thumb brushing a warm, gentle trail down the side of Lionel’s neck. Lionel shivered.

“Did you screw up the Russian’s shipment?” He asked in an attempt to diffuse the weirdness of the moment. “Did you steal their vehicle, leave it somewhere, and torch it?”

Immediately, John stiffened and his hand fell away.

“That’s a yes, then,” Lionel said and his anger swelled a little. “Do you know how much trouble that puts HR in? _Me_ in? Simmons thought I was the one who screwed it up somehow. I’m not sure he’s convinced yet that I didn’t.”

“I eliminated a problem; did you and the city a favor.”

“A _favor_?” Lionel hissed, “you call that a favor? You want me to be on good terms with HR, don’t you? You want me to be the inside man? If that’s still the case, then you have to let me do shitty things, like pick up money for protecting a drug shipment. Otherwise you’re not going to do anything except get me killed.”

John stared at him, which infuriated Lionel all the more.

“And now you’re just going to stand there and stare like some kicked puppy. You’ve been weird all week, following me around, buying me dinner, spying on me, what the fuck is your problem? Are you getting ready to throw me to the wolves? Do you want me to fucking die? Is that the end game here, fast and furious? Get the dirty cop killed so you don’t have to deal with him anymore?”

All of it had rushed out of him so quickly, Lionel was breathless afterward. His body trembled with the adrenaline coursing through it, anger permeating his whole being. Who the hell did John think he was? Who did John think Lionel was? And why the hell didn’t John seem capable of actually giving a shit? Maybe he wanted him dead after all. Perhaps that’s what Lionel deserved.

John continued to stare, and Lionel brushed past him.

“Why don’t you run along,” he said quietly, “and leave me the hell alone.”

He walked straight into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. If John wanted to stand out there and sulk, he could. Lionel turned on the shower as hot as it would go and resisted the urge to punch the mirror, or do something else stupid. As the water heated up and steam filled the room he stripped, popping a button on his dress shirt in his haste. He balled it up and tossed it into the garbage, ignoring his own shaking as he eventually got all of his clothes off and stepped under the warm stream of water.

“You really got yourself into it, Lionel,” he mumbled to himself as he grabbed the bar of soap and tried to wash his skin away. He wanted it all to disappear. Hell, he wanted to disappear. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with Simmons and his god damn power trip, or John Reese and his weird ass behaviors. The water was nearly scalding, but he didn’t care. He’d do anything to feel clean again, to wash away the dirty cop everyone knew him to be.

After a while had passed, and his warm water ran out, he got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He left his clothes on the floor and stepped out of the bathroom, looking down the hall. John was gone. So Lionel walked over to the door, locked it, shut off all the lights, and wandered back to his bedroom.

Exhausted, he haphazardly yanked on a pair of briefs and burrowed under the blankets on his bed, hoping that when he woke up, the entire day would have been nothing but a dream.

***

Two days passed without any word from John or Harold. There were no requests to look up files, or investigate a curious situation. Lionel checked his phone religiously, anxious that he somehow missed something. He sat at his desk at the station; paperwork scattered everywhere, and looked at his phone for the tenth time that hour. At least that’s what it seemed like.

“Hey Carter,” he called across the room, and Joss looked up from a file she was reading, “have you heard from our friends recently?”

She considered the question for a moment and then shrugged.

“No, not that I’m disappointed or anything about it, either. We both could use a break from the stuff they get us involved in,” she replied.

“Liar,” Lionel shot back knowingly, and Joss smiled a little.

“Okay, it is driving me crazy, too,” she admitted, “but we’ve got enough normal crimes to investigate. They’ll contact us when they need us. They always do.”

Lionel nodded and watched as she returned to her paperwork. He glanced at his computer screen, then down at his papers, then over to his empty coffee mug. His mind wandered back to days before, when John had stood in his apartment and stared while Lionel ranted at him. Of course he didn’t necessarily feel _bad_ about it, because the guy had been acting weird and touching his face and the whole thing had been two steps away from becoming some kind of intimate thing. But he had a suspicion his reaction had everything to do with why he and Joss had been left out in the cold.

“Fusco?” Joss asked and Lionel realized he had been staring across the room just over her shoulder.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about a couple of things.”

“That’s dangerous,” she joked, and Lionel smiled.

“You’ll let me know if they contact you?” He asked after a moment.

“Of course. You headed somewhere?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff I need to do. I’ll see you,” he said, and then saved what he’d been working on. Once all the files had been gathered up and put in their rightful places, he grabbed his phone and his jacket, and headed out of the precinct.

Before he got out, though, the last person in the world he wanted to see appeared. Simmons, to his credit, appeared calmer than the last time they had met. Instead of his usual greeting he motioned for Lionel to follow him. They walked out the door silently together, and once there was enough space between them and the precinct, Simmons talked.

“We still need you to pick something up, and it needs to be tonight,” he explained as they made their way down the street, Lionel shrugging on his suit jacket.

“You cleared up what happened?” He asked, surprised.

“We made up for what happened, and the work has not gone unnoticed. Here is everything you need to know,” Simmons offered him a slip of paper, and Lionel took it.

“Don’t fuck it up,” he warned, and Lionel watched as he turned back around and headed in the direction they’d come. Lionel pocketed the paper and kept walking. He took a silent inventory of what was on him, and decided for a simple payment pickup, he was more than prepared.

He glanced once again at his cell phone, only to be met with no messages and no missed calls. Lionel turned it off, pulled the paper back out, and began the trip across town.

***

A pickup at the docks was stereotypical of bad guys. Lionel had had his fill of it back when he’d been a legitimately dirty copy, so it didn’t surprise him when the directions led him to a dock off of the East River. The waters churned nearby, the day darkened by clouds that had settled in and a breeze that threatened to become something more. He stood where he had been told to, next to a shipping container with a bright D580 painted on the side, and waited.

Three men approached, one in an overpriced suit and two in suits that reminded him of the kind John would wear. Simple, and probably also overpriced, but they certainly didn’t look it. The one in front was not a man he recognized, so he assumed a lackey had been sent in lieu of anyone important. Lionel couldn’t really let himself be surprised; he wasn’t exactly big fish, either. Just another lackey doing whatever his boss told him to do. He hated every moment.

“HR did a nice job cleaning up the mess,” the lackey said when he was close enough to hold a conversation. His two goons stood silently behind him, one of them holding a briefcase. “We appreciated the extra care they put into the latest run, but we definitely took some off the top for the screw up.”

“My boss isn’t going to like that,” Lionel said, his heart rate rising. “He’s expecting whatever amount you agreed to; I show up with less and it isn’t going to just be my head on a pike.”

“Listen, inspector gadget, what the bosses discuss is between them, and I know my boss wants to send a message to yours that is more than words. Your people screw up and they don’t get paid. That’s business,” the lackey answered indifferently, “give him the suitcase.”

One of the goons stepped forward and offered Lionel the briefcase. He refused to take it.

“If it isn’t the full amount, then we have nothing to discuss,” Lionel insisted, because the last thing he needed was to show up at the drop with less money than negotiated, and have Simmons convinced he took some off the top for himself.

The blow got him right in the stomach, and knocked the air out of him. Before he could react, the goon kicked his knee and it gave out, forcing him to the ground. He gasped for air, and grunted when the briefcase was dropped straight onto his back.

“You’re right, we’ve got nothing to discuss. Take your damn money and get the hell-”

Bullets whizzed by, and the lackey took one to each kneecap. He fell to the ground and screeched. The two goons had their guns drawn, but soon they were down, too. One took a shot to the knee and another to the shoulder, while the second goon took one to the knee and fell.

Lionel waited for bullets to hit him, but they didn’t come. The air cleared, and all he heard was the groaning of the men around him. Minutes later, a police cruiser’s siren went off, and two officers drove up. When Lionel finally had the strength to sit up, he recognized a couple of HR officers, followed closely by Simmons.

“Nice work, Detective,” he said and motioned for his men to cuff the Russians. Simmons grabbed the briefcase.

“You knew this was going to happen,” Lionel claimed as he looked up at Simmons who now towered over him.

“I had a suspicion; it wasn’t confirmed, though, until I got an anonymous tip from someone who claimed the Russians were making a deal here on the docks that needed to be investigated. I figured things had gone sideways.” Simmons watched as the Russians were dragged away into the patrol cars. “Did you do that?”

“No,” Lionel answered honestly as he got back up on his feet, his knee aching from the hit it took.

“Friend of yours do it, then?” Simmons sounded suspicious.

“I don’t know who did it. Whoever it was, was kind enough to spare me a bullet and that’s all I care about. Maybe the Russians pulled out on another deal and someone was pissed.” Lionel shrugged and brushed dirt off of his trousers. “Can I go home now?”

“Of course; I can’t give you a ride, though. We’re all full up.” Simmons smirked and turned on his heels back to the car. Lionel watched them all drive off and stood there on the docks, staring at the spot they’d all vacated.

He limped home. Or at least limped to the nearest subway stop, which took him to another station, where he decided to put down the money on a cab to take him the rest of the way home.

And of course, as if his day couldn’t get any worse, his favorite stalker waited for him outside of his apartment as he limped to it. He tried to ignore John, didn’t acknowledge him as he pulled his keys out of his pocket. Lionel’s hands trembled slightly as he fumbled with the key, the day finally catching up with him. The keys dropped to the ground with a patronizing clink, and he cursed under his breath.

Before he could bend down to retrieve them, John did. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, then motioned silently for Lionel to go first. He did, limping, and John followed him inside. Lionel heard the deadbolt slid into place behind him and sighed.

“Are you going to kill me?” He asked, because it would be the sensible end to his day. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain in his knee anymore.

“No, had that been my intention I could have taken care of it at the docks,” John replied, confirming what Lionel had already suspected: his guardian angel had been none other than John in the flesh.

“Still stalking me at least,” Lionel replied as he turned to face John. “Didn’t get enough last time and came back for more? Well, I’m afraid I don’t have much more fight to give you today. Might try again tomorrow.”

John stepped into his space. Lionel stepped backward and away. John stepped closer, and they did a frightening dance until Lionel’s back hit the wall and there was nowhere else to go.

“What is wrong with you?” Lionel snapped, frustrated and confused.

“I got involved because Simmons put you in danger,” John answered. “He put hands on you.”

“Yeah, so? He’s done that a lot. You know who else put hands on me? The Russians. It happens. I’m pretty punchable.”

John’s hand slapped over Lionel’s mouth before he could say another word, and he began to panic.

“If anyone is going to punch you, it is going to be me,” John murmured, voice low as he leaned in so their foreheads were almost touching. “I don’t think you understand but the moment I brought you on as my asset you became my property.”

Lionel tried to protest, but it was muffled by the hand, so he gave up.

“You are mine, Lionel, and I might toss you into danger but that does not give anyone else permission to touch you. To hurt you. Despite what you think, you don’t deserve to die.”

The words were a punch to the gut; or at least they had the same effects as one, as Lionel was left breathless and speechless. Of course John knew. He’d all but said it when he yelled at him the previous night. Lionel had accused John of wanting him dead, because maybe a part of him believed that was truly the fate he deserved.

“If nothing else gives you value, understand that you are not your own anymore. You belong to me, and I have a final say in what does or doesn’t happen, and I will say it again, you don’t deserve to die.”

If there were tears gathering at the backs of Lionel’s eyes, he refused to admit it. He refused to let them fall. The whole day had taken a weird turn and he didn’t understand any of it. John removed the hand from his mouth and rested it on the same cheek that Simmons had slapped. He brushed his thumb over Lionel’s cheekbone again, like he’d done all those nights ago, a fierce yet tender look in John’s eyes.

John kissed him then, strong and certain. Their lips pressed together and Lionel wondered if he had actually died on the dock, or had ended up in a coma. Regardless, his mouth went slack and John took every advantage as Lionel responded to the kiss. One of his hands rested against John’s shoulder and curled in the fabric as John’s body pressed forward into his.

When John’s mouth broke away from his, Lionel could do nothing except pant, close his eyes, and tilt his head back against the wall because John’s mouth found other ways to occupy itself. Warm, wet lips and a teasing tongue worked their way along the stubble on Lionel’s jaw line, and then dipped down to press against his pulse. All the while, John’s thumb continued to trace his cheekbone, the pad of his thumb worn and gentle.

“Okay, okay,” Lionel panted when he finally got some of his breath back. “Stop, stop, please,” he pushed gently on John’s shoulder and he stopped, though remained close, their bodies nearly pressed together. John brushed a kiss to Lionel’s hairline and then looked at him, waiting.

“Look,” Lionel huffed as he tried to collect his thoughts, which had been scattered everywhere by John’s lips, “I don’t really know where this is coming from, or what’s behind it, or what is actually going on, but, I’m tired. I’m sore. I took a punch to the gut and a kick to the knee, and a guy dropped a briefcase on me, and while I really like whatever _this_ is I’m probably not in the right mind…”

“Okay,” John replied easily, quickly, and Lionel avoided his gaze. He stepped back, but Lionel grabbed his arm and pulled him back in, kissing him again. John obliged, and then pulled back with raised eyebrows.

“Just making sure you understand I’m not saying no, or, you know, that we can’t, pick this up later when I’m less inclined to sleep for ten hours,” Lionel insisted, wanting to make it clear without being too forward that whatever was going on needed to be resolved. He finally looked at John’s face and saw what he could only assume was relief.

“You could even stay. Have a beer,” Lionel offered, and John inclined his head.

“I’ll skip the beer, but I’ll stay for a bit.” John backed up a few steps to free Lionel from where he had been trapped against the wall. Lionel limped back to his bedroom, shed his dirtied work attire, and pulled on a pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt. When he made his way back into the living room, he found John sitting at one end of the couch, a bag of frozen peas in his hand.

Lionel sat at the other end and John offered him the bag. He maneuvered himself into a comfortable position and laid the bag over his knee, leg extended out along the couch while his other foot was planted firmly on the ground. Grabbing the remote, Lionel flipped on the TV and switched it to a movie channel.

“Any requests?” Lionel asked as he looked over at John, who shot him a skeptical look. Okay, so John probably wasn’t the type to watch movies.

He settled on some action flick he didn’t know the name of and the two sat in silence for a time, Lionel dozing. As he drifted, he heard rustling, and the cold vanished from his knee. The last thing he remembered was the weight of a blanket being draped over him, before he finally fell asleep.

***

The next morning at the precinct, Lionel walked in with coffee in hand and passed by Simmons who headed in the opposite direction. With his free hand he reached out and grabbed the other officer’s arm, pulling him to a stop as he turned to look at him. Simmons sported a black eye, amongst other scrapes and scratches along his face.

“The hell happen to you?” Lionel asked, and Simmons frowned.

“None of your damn business, Fusco.” He yanked his arm away and stalked off without another word.

Lionel couldn’t help but smile a little to himself as he made his way to his desk.

“What’s got you so happy, Fusco?” Joss asked as he set his coffee on the desk and dropped into his chair.

“I just saw Simmons; he looked like he got roughed up.”

“Oh, that. Word around the station is he was on his way back from taking down some Russians when a car without a driver slammed into the cruiser. He got hit by the airbag, as well as other debris. He’ll be fine,” Joss shrugged.

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” Lionel replied, warmth spreading across his chest when he realized he knew exactly who was behind the mysterious car.

***

“When I texted you saying we needed to meet, that wasn’t permission to break into my house again,” Lionel said upon entering his apartment, the front door unlocked. John lurked in the entryway to the living room and didn’t seem particularly bothered.

He shut the door behind him and locked it.

“Thank you,” Lionel said as he crossed some of the distance between them, standing a foot and a half away, “for slamming a car into Simmons’ cruiser. It was nice seeing him bruised for once.”

A smile crept over John’s lips, and Lionel couldn’t help but mirror it.

“And about the other day,” Lionel started, and watched as the smile quickly vanished into a look of concern. The way John’s brow wrinkled, and lips turned down was endearing. For once, Lionel had the upper hand, and he kind of liked it.

“I rehearsed this all day because I don’t really know how to say it, but the other thing I wanted to thank you for was for what you said, about me, about not deserving to die,” he hesitated and looked away from John, unable to hold his intense gaze, “I know I act suicidal sometimes; I’m not, not really. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life though and have always been taught that one day mistakes like mine will come back to bite me. I’ve been waiting around for years for that to happen and I guess I’m not really used to having other people care. I never mattered before.”

Silence stretched between them and Lionel finally looked back at John, who regarded him with unguarded eyes. For once, he’d get to look past the mask.

“You, Finch, even Carter, you all think I matter and that kind of changes things.” Lionel stepped into John’s space unapologetically and John responded in kind, pressing into Lionel’s space in return.

“So what I’m really saying is, if you wanted to make out again-”

He did not get a chance to finish his sentence, because John’s lips were on his. Lionel nearly stumbled back from the force of it, but John’s arm went around his waist and held him steady. They stood there together for what seemed like an eternity, John’s body an anchor in uncertain seas. Their mouths moved together, John’s tongue exploring, teeth sinking roughly into Lionel’s lower lip in a way that made him groan.

When they parted, it was only far enough to allow for John to yank him down the hallway. They made slow progress, mouths finding each other again and again, until he pulled Lionel through the door to the bedroom. Standing there, John glanced around the room and left Lionel’s side to flick on the bedside lamp. Lionel watched as John shrugged off his suit jacket, kicked off his shoes, and then sat on the edge of the bed and stared openly at him.

“Come here, Lionel,” he insisted, and Lionel’s feet moved before his brain could catch up with them. He took a moment to kick off his shoes before he stepped up in front of John, body positioned between the other man’s legs as strong hands rested on his hips. Lionel stood there obediently as John’s eyes slid over him, seemingly taking him all in, though he didn’t understand what there was worth looking at.

John’s hands moved then, finally, and yanked Lionel’s shirt out of his pants. His deft fingers made quick work of the buttons except the top few which would have been awkward to reach, so Lionel undid those and slid both the shirt and his suit jacket off of his shoulders and onto the floor.

They were kicked away by John’s socked foot as his hands slid beneath the hem of Lionel’s undershirt. A bit embarrassed, Lionel looked away and picked a spot on the wall to stare at as his entire body warmed under the attention John gave him.

“You’re distracted, detective,” John murmured kindly, his tone kicking up butterflies in Lionel’s stomach.

“You’re dragging this on longer than it needs to,” Lionel replied cattily, and what happened next knocked the breath out of him. In a couple fluid movements, John knocked his feet out from under him, grabbed Lionel’s arm, spun him around, and pinned him face first on the bed.

Lionel groaned in pleasure, not in pain, as John’s weight bore down on him.

“Need I remind you Lionel, that I’m the one in control here?” John asked.

“No, I think you’ve pretty well demonstrated that,” Lionel replied, and John released his arm and sat back. It gave Lionel a chance to shift to a slightly more comfortable position as he centered himself on the bed on his hands and knees.

“Is that what you want?” John asked.

“What do you mean?”

John leaned over his back, mouth right beside his ear.

“Do you want me to keep reminding you that I’m the one in control?” He whispered, “I’m happy to do that, Fusco, if that’s what you need.”

The offer went straight to Lionel’s dick.  
  
“Lionel,” John said quietly, requesting an answer.

“That’s what I need,” Lionel finally replied; it had taken some time to form the right words, and admit to what he wanted.

“If you say stop, I stop,” assured John, “now get your shirt off.” He sat back to allow Lionel the room to sit up and tug his undershirt off. Tossing it to the floor, he resumed his earlier position but was quickly shoved completely down onto the bed. It took a moment for him to rearrange his limbs comfortably, but he ended up flat on his stomach with his arms bent at the elbow and pressed under him. It would be comfortable for the short term, anyway.

John wasted no time in laying hands on him. Thoughtful fingertips traced along the curve of Lionel’s spine, then pressed into the muscles down along his lumbar region. The tension he’d held onto since the kiss days before began to ease out of him as the pressure of John’s fingers chased it away. In a lot of ways, this scenario had not been the one he pictured when he thought about where the kiss would lead. Yet as it happened, as John got his palms into the mix and began working out the tension all up along Lionel’s back, it didn’t really surprise him.

He groaned quietly when John got to his shoulders and his fingers tackled the knots there. Soon, he was a relaxed puddle of a man, his arms now curled under his head instead of tucked under him. John’s lips soon followed his fingers as he left a trail of kisses along Lionel’s skin, his tongue tracing his spine, mouth lingering on an old scar at the back of his shoulder. Every touch was tender and revenant and Lionel didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this kind of consideration.

John’s warmth left him for a moment, before his hands returned and reached under Lionel to undo the belt of his trousers. The button and zipper came next, and John pulled them down Lionel’s legs until they were off. He heard the fabric fall to the floor as John removed his socks. Then the warm weight of him was back, and Lionel turned his upper body enough that their lips could touch again. John hummed into the kiss, a strangely content sound that seemed so foreign.

“Stay, Lionel,” John instructed when he broke the kiss. He pressed a hand between Lionel’s shoulder blades to guide him back flat on his chest again. Of course Lionel obeyed, what else was there for him to do? He waited patiently as John got off the bed and disappeared into the master bathroom. Lionel tilted his head in that direction and watched the light flick on, listened to John rummage around, then observed quietly as the other man stalked back across the room to the bed.

Having clearly not found what he had been looking for, he opened the side table drawer and made a soft ‘ah,’ sound. Lionel rolled his eyes.

“You could have asked,” Lionel pointed out to diffuse the sudden tension that had returned the moment John pulled a condom and a bottle of lube out of the nightstand.

“I managed,” John replied as he dropped both items on the bed beside Lionel. He then began to unbutton his own shirt and allowed it to fall to the floor. Lionel was grateful John stood where he could be seen, even though the room was only illuminated by a single lamp, because watching John undress was a sight to behold. The raw power contained in his body was unimaginable, and Lionel wondered how ridiculous he must look in comparison.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” John pointed out as his undershirt came off and was unceremoniously dropped to the floor. “What if I made you say everything that came to your mind? If I didn’t allow you to filter a single thing, what do you think I’d learn about you?”

Lionel swallowed nervously at the thought, but thankfully didn’t have to consider it for long as he was distracted by John dropping his trousers. He kicked them aside and stood there in his briefs, considering Lionel thoughtfully. Then, John disappeared from Lionel’s sight, though the bed dipped under John’s weight as he got back onto it and roughly tugged down Lionel’s underwear. They were thrown somewhere out of sight and John’s hand followed along Lionel’s ass. Lionel ground his hips into the bed in response.

“No,” John corrected and patted the back of Lionel’s thigh, “up on your knees again. Hug a pillow to your chest.”

Lionel followed the directions. He grabbed one of his pillows from above his head and shoved it beneath his chest as he pushed himself back up onto his knees. The position was a vulnerable one, his ass way too exposed, but John’s hand smoothed comfortingly along his hip and the side of his thigh and he decided he could deal with it. His legs were pushed apart a little so that John could situate himself between them.

“Have you ever done this before?” John asked as his hand moved around to Lionel’s front, fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking it slowly.

“Other than getting handsy with a guy in college, no,” Lionel replied, and then groaned softly. His head dropped to the bed, forehead pressed to the comforter. “I assume you have?”

John chuckled, but didn’t answer. Instead, he stroked Lionel a few more times before releasing him and running his hands over Lionel’s ass again. He pressed a kiss to Lionel’s tailbone and reached over to grab the lubricant. At this point, Lionel definitely had no plans to back out of whatever was next, but there was still a nervous flutter in his chest when the cap popped open and John’s warm hands spread his ass cheeks.

“Breathe Lionel, it isn’t going to kill you,” John insisted and dribbled warm lube on Lionel’s asshole, rubbing it sensually with a single finger. Lionel exhaled slowly and curled his fingers in the pillow in anticipation. Instead of the penetration he expected, John simply kept rubbing his finger against the tight ring of muscle. He’d push slightly, then pull back and apply more lube before rubbing again. At one point, the sensation drew a shudder and a whine out of Lionel who finally relaxed.

That’s when John slid the first finger in, and Lionel was surprised by the sensation of pressure and not much else. Now, it being pulled out only to be thrust back in was a whole different story and it drew a surprised grunt from Lionel who tensed at first, then relaxed once John set into a steady rhythm. He even moved his hips back into the movement to test out the extent of the sensation, and moaned when the angle was just right. They stuck with that for a few thrusts, Lionel’s cock twitching in response as soft groans fell freely from his lips.

Eventually, John added more lube and a second finger, both working together in and out of Lionel, who adjusted. They moved with that rhythm for a while, John’s free hand stroking along Lionel’s lower back, his hip, the front of his thigh. Then it all stopped and he felt the bed shift. When he tilted his head to glance over his shoulder he got a skewed view of John struggling out of his briefs. Finally, the movements stopped and he watched John’s hand snatch the condom wrapper.

“We stop at any time you need to,” John reminded him, the first words out of his mouth in what seemed like ages. Lionel nodded in acknowledgment and shifted around to rearrange himself into a comfortable position.  
  
“Grab that other pillow,” John suggested, and Lionel grabbed it and dragged it down to where the other man could reach it. It was tucked beneath his belly, just above his groin, and it relieved some of the tension in his hips. John ran his hand up and down Lionel’s back for a moment before his hands returned to his ass. Lionel inhaled sharply when he felt the lubed head of John’s cock press against his asshole and was grateful for the added glide the condom provided.

More lube, this time straight out of the bottle, was applied and John used the tip of his dick to rub it against Lionel, much like he’d originally done with his fingers. Then, he pushed again, this time pushing in, and Lionel keened softly and gripped the pillow he had hugged to his chest. John pulled out, and then pushed back in, going a little further each time until Lionel’s tension began to ease and it became easier.

“Good boy,” whispered John fondly, “that’s good, Lionel.” He reached around and stroked Lionel’s cock once in time with pushing further into him, and Lionel moaned helplessly. John let go of his cock in favor of resting a hand on his hip as he started to work on setting a rhythm.

“You’re welcome to participate too,” he pointed out, “move like you did earlier, find the right angle.”

Lionel took the advice and began to hesitantly move his hips back into John’s thrusts, and as a reward John’s pleased moan filled the room.  
  
“If only you could see what you looked like right now,” John mused out loud, though it faded into another soft groan, “that’s right, just like that.”

Bolder, and a bit more at ease, Lionel continued to meet John’s thrusts until they established a comfortable and pleasurable rhythm. Words became a thing of the past as Lionel’s vocabulary was reduced down to a series of whines, moans, and ‘pleases.’ He hadn’t expected any of it; not the kiss, or the fucking, or the tender yet firm way John handled him. The other man’s hands touched him idly as they fucked, wandering, exploring, spreading warmth wherever they went.

When Lionel was reduced to soft whimpers, John’s weight settled over his back and he nuzzled at Lionel’s hairline, and brushed a kiss to his temple, then his cheek. One of his arms rested on the bed near Lionel’s shoulder, holding himself up, while the other snaked down around Lionel’s waist and held him as they rocked together.

John growled possessively right near Lionel’s ear, and kissed the skin behind it as his hips fell out of rhythm and became a bit more sporadic. Lionel whined, and then moaned as John’s hand finally wrapped around his swollen cock and stroked him in tight movements. John would thrust into him, and his hand would move across his cock, and it became more frantic as Lionel heard John starting to come undone.

“Please, please, John,” Lionel begged as he pushed his hips harder, meeting John’s rough thrusts, right there on the edge himself as he tilted his hips and found the perfect angle.

“Let go, Lionel, let go,” John hissed, lips pressed up against his ear, all of his power and energy coiled tightly, reigned in even though Lionel had a feeling John could crush him if he wanted.

“Come for me,” he commanded.

Lionel’s vision went white as John fucked him through his orgasm. The world around them fell away until all he had was John’s panting breath against his cheek and his hips pounding an ancient beat. He regretted not realizing John had also come until it was too late, and wondered what it had sounded like in that moment when all of his senses were so overloaded he couldn’t take in anything more. At some point he collapsed, his hips pressed into the bed and John still pressed into him, heavy against his back.

John’s chest heaved, so did Lionel’s, and slowly but surely the world returned. His knee hurt, sore from the swift kick it received a few days back, un-helped by their present activities. His chest seemed like it was on fire as he struggled to catch his breath. The heat left him, sweat on his skin cooling in the air of the room, and John’s nose pressed into his hair, arm trembling to keep from completely smashing Lionel.

Eventually John rolled off of him and shifted around, probably removing the condom, but Lionel was too busy trying to return to earth to look and see. The next thing he knew, John’s fingers were stroking up and down his back in a calming motion. He tried to match his breathing to the movement and eventually calmed down, his body tired and pliant beneath gentle touches.

When he regained some sense of his body, Lionel rolled onto his side and John immediately leaned in and kissed him. John used his weight to push Lionel onto his back and settled half over him as they shared slow kisses. Lionel took his chance and touched John’s face. He ran his fingers along his stubble and followed the line of his jaw up to his ear and then down a tendon in John’s neck. His fingers splayed out against John’s shoulder and he dragged the pads of them along John’s skin before trailing back up to bury his fingers in his hair.

They stayed like that for a while, Lionel’s fingers running along John’s scalp, and then rubbing the tension out of the back of his neck. John’s lips remained occupied with Lionel’s, his hands planted firmly on the bed. When they were both thoroughly exhausted, John flopped onto his back and let out a long breath, before he squirmed around and pulled the pillows from under them and shoved them back under their heads.

“So when are you going to take me out on a date?” Lionel asked jokingly.

“I already bought you dinner, Fusco. What more do you want from me?”

Lionel laughed.

“I could do this again,” he admitted, after his chuckling had subsided.

“Talk to me about it again in the morning, you might be singing a different tune,” John said and offered Lionel a wry smile.

***

Gunfire erupted when Lionel and Joss showed up on the scene. They bailed out of their cruiser, firearms drawn, and made their way into the warehouse where the shots were being exchanged.

“Detective, are you on the scene? I’ve lost contact with Mr. Reese,” Harold’s voice asked in Lionel’s ear. Lionel haphazardly tapped the ear bud.

“We’re just arriving, lots of gunfire, I’ll check in when we’re not getting shot at.”

He glanced at Joss as they came to a corner and she nodded in acknowledgement. They came around the corner, weapons drawn, ready to fire, only to find John and Sameen standing over three assailants on the ground, clutching their knees. Behind them stood a frightened young man whose hands were still bound behind his back.

“Thanks for coming to the party, you’re a little late,” Sameen pointed out, unenthused even though her cheeks were flush from the excitement.

“I can see that; guess you didn’t need back up after all,” Lionel answered, firearm at his side as he surveyed the scene.

John raised his weapon, aimed it at Lionel, and shot. Lionel’s heart jumped, but then from behind him, back near the corner he and Joss came around, there came a surprised shout and the sound of a body dropping. John winked, Lionel scowled, and Joss looked between the two of them like they were nuts.

They probably were, but Lionel didn’t mind it so much. Not now, when he saw the possessive gleam in John’s eye and knew what it meant.


End file.
